


didn't we almost have it all.

by reiicharu



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band), NewS (Band)
Genre: Angst, Yamapi leaving NEWS, lots and lots of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:29:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiicharu/pseuds/reiicharu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kame picks up the pieces when Yamapi falls apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	didn't we almost have it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for singlehappiness in 2011 amigo_exchange and unbelievably so, I managed to produce this. I must have gone through about eleven drafts until I went berserk and c/p about every single thing I had and deleted everything but perhaps a few hundred words? Getting to know Kame and Yamapi, their incarnations in this fic, it was a journey that I never thought I'd experience, having written them before. I am so utterly happy I decided to go with this idea, challenge the perception of flaws and Hurricane Sayaendou and thank you so much to tatoeba in particular for listening to me rant and whine and kicking me whenever I needed it. I also have a cliched fanmix that you can find [here](http://zerofairytails.livejournal.com/25512.html).

 

 

In the midst of applause, they all feel their hearts soar.

 

Kame loves the final bow, someone’s sweaty hand in his when they say goodbye, goodnight and it’s a job well done.

 

He does it like a pro, he’s a great idol and he knows it.

 

 

*

 

 

America met a superstar and Kame found his heart bottled up in a jar. He might have thrown it in the ocean, watching it bob away as the rest of him falls to pieces.

 

He likes being Kamenashi Kazuya, the actor, the idol, the baseball kid. He likes being good at things—he’s great at a lot of things. Modelling, singing, sex. He’s fantastic at sex. (He was never good at school, but that’s just asking too much of him.)

 

Kame doesn’t want much, he just wants perfection.

 

Akanishi was never part of the equation, with his rashness because god damnit Jin, count to fucking five, can’t you just take a moment to think, why can’t you just stop crashing into things head first (never mind that Kame used to get dragged in, never mind that Kame loved losing control once in awhile, just to have the blood pounding in his head, the adrenaline rushing through him like there’s a fire within him) and for crying out loud, get it together, Akanishi.

 

And he rewrites history, edits out the parts in which Akanishi meant something—he means nothing, really—and Kame fills the spaces with sleepless nights and job offers and his eyes trained on the prize (it exists, it’s more than self validation in the opinion of others) and Kame knows he’s more than that.

 

He’s Dream Boy Kamenashi.

 

He’s fine. He’s absolutely fine—

 

 

> Yamashita Tomohisa and Nishikido Ryo, members of popular idol-group, NEWS, announced through their agency Johnny’s & Associates their withdrawal from the group. 

 

—And then the wheels of fate turn, screwing him over once more.

 

 

*

 

 

They’ve all been there, with their hair in a mess and their breath reeking of whiskey. They’ve all gone down that path, with their heads lost in a sea of amber liquid and the room spinning fast and slow at the same time.

 

Kame turns the faucet, helps Yamashita take his shoes off and shoves him into the shower.

 

“I left,” Yamashita says, empty and flat. He sits in the shower, water saturating his shirt and his hair plastered to his head.

 

Funny how the world works—once upon a time, everyone wanted to be him, date him, and now people want to throw him into a shark tank.

 

“You left,” Kame agrees.

 

“I can’t even say sorry.”

 

Kame steps out of his house slippers, gets into the shower and crouches right in front of Yamashita. “You left,” he repeats.

 

“I did,” Yamashita agrees, like it’s a routine. “Why are you helping me?”

 

“Because no one else will,” Kame says simply. “And I’ve been there before.”

 

“You never left KAT-TUN.”

 

“No, that was your best friend.”

 

“Low blow.”

 

“You deserve it.”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Yamashita says softly.

 

Neither of them shiver under the water. They sit there, soaked to the bone in a shower cubicle until their fingertips wrinkle.

 

 

*

 

 

Nothing happens. Yamashita sleeps on the couch. Kame sleeps in his own bed. Then Yamashita leaves before Kame wakes up. Kame goes to work and never mentions Yamashita.

 

That’s how it’s meant to end.

 

There was nothing to start.

 

 

*

 

 

“You talked to Massu?” Koki asks Nakamaru.

 

Kame doesn’t look up from his script, shoving yakisoba into his mouth as fast as he can for their lunch break.

 

“He’s holding up. Tegomass’s preparation for tour and the drama are keeping him occupied,” Nakamaru says. “I’ve called Koyama, he’s emotional but he’s trying to be strong. He’s a good one, Koyama is.”

 

“He is, isn’t he?” Taguchi remarks.

 

“You talk to Nishikido-kun sometimes, don’t you?” Nakamaru asks, concern written all over his features.

 

Next to Kame, Ueda twitches. He’s reading a script as well, hat jammed firmly over his fuzzy head.

 

“I do,” Taguchi says amicably. “I wished him well. He’s working hard, you know? And he wishes everyone in NEWS well and wishes us well. And he calls Uepi a Buddhist monk, but don't listen to that part.”

 

“My question is: why do you care?” Ueda says, looking up at the three of them.

 

Kame remains silent, turning a page in his script.

 

“We’re allowed to be concerned,” Nakamaru says, shoulders tense. “I’m friends with Massu and Koyama and Tegoshi is a nice kid and Katou-kun’s a good guy.”

 

The five of them lapse into an awkward silence.

 

“It’s not like it was easy when Akanishi left us. But we worked hard and we pulled through,” Nakamaru says, a stab in a dark. “So they can do the same.”

 

Koki looks at Kame, his message clear as day: “Say something.”

 

“No comment,” Kame says simply. “I don’t care.”

 

 

*

 

 

Kame’s a lie, through and through. He’s a liar, a damn good actor and it blends Kazuya in with Kame like paint on a palette.

 

People ask him if he’s alright, and Kame says yes (Kazuya whispers no) and then people ask if he’s tired and he says he’s fine (Kamenashi screams he’s exhausted) and then the world asks for Kame to be amazing (Kamenashi Kazuya says he’s had enough) and he’s perfect.

 

KAT-TUN is everything.

 

Once upon a time, they were breaking the records and now they’re trying to be a remix.

 

He could blame Akanishi, but Kame has no right to take the moral high ground. Not one of them do—the citizenship criteria is damn hard to fit and it’s a pretty lonely place. So Kame just takes it as it is, refuses to accept defeat and works until his fingers bleed.

 

Kame’s looking at the blisters on his hands when he gets the call.

 

Yamashita’s plea is clear, “Are you there?”

 

He’s just barely home from a Going! filming.

 

“I need someone, anyone,” and his words are slurred.

 

Kame simply hangs up.

 

 

*

 

 

In a sea of applause, people used to scream for Yamapi, Yamapi, Yamapi.

 

Kame would clasp hands over his ears, pretending and pretending and pretending.

 

In a crowd that swallows their screams, Kame thought that it would never last and it’s a shame that he was right. He likes being right, but he doesn’t like to see dreams die.

 

 

*

 

 

Yamashita smells like Calvin Klein and cheap bourbon. He’s a hot mess, shaking and trying to keep it all in. It’s strange, the types of robots Johnny manufactures because there could be a few faults in Yamashita that the factory failed to iron out.

 

“They look at me like I’ve gone ahead and destroyed everything happy,” Yamashita says quietly. And he doesn’t mean NEWS—the four of them are far too kind, far too good and Yamashita doesn’t deserve them—he means the people who are meant to stand by him, he means Akanishi across the ocean, Nishikido right next to him and the girlfriend who buys expensive perfume and speaks with an accent.

 

“You have,” Kame states, untying Yamashita’s boot laces. “You fucked up.”

 

“They’re meant to be the people who say it’s okay for me to do this. They’re meant to be the ones supporting me.”

 

“And you don’t always get what you want,” and Kame learnt the hard way—they all do. “At least take a shower.”

 

Yamashita takes in one shuddering breath, right before his confession, “I tried, you know. I really tried.”

 

“Could have fooled me. You were gallivanting around half the world before you announced your withdrawal.”

 

“I tried,” Yamashita whispers. “I tried, Kame. I tried so hard.”

 

And he’s speaking of something else entirely.

 

 

*

 

 

Yamashita sleeps in the bed, Kame takes the couch. It ends once more, just like that.

 

Kame’s not sure how much of this he can take.

 

He gets the worst of it, he gets the images in his head when Yamashita wakes up and walks around in an oversized Giants t-shirt and sweatpants, hair floppy. He gets the images of tearing off the shirt, just to see some life in those eyes. Kame squashes the images.

 

“I have work,” Kame says in the morning.

 

(It should have ended, it didn’t because nothing should have started, but it did.)

 

“Okay,” Yamashita says.

 

“You don’t have meetings?”

 

Silence.

 

“Well,” he almost continues but Kame’s interrupted by Ran and Geri who yip and bark for Yamashita’s attention. So he leaves Yamashita to tend to his girls, heading to work like it’s a brand new day, not the continuation of a long night blended into a rather dazed morning.

 

 

*

 

 

The questions at the press conference are like sniper bullets, well aimed and straight to the point. It’ll all be in the papers tomorrow, all over the internet with people dissecting his answers and weaving a whole new message—

 

“Kamenashi wants to leave, doesn’t he?”

 

“Kamenashi is so respectable.”

 

“Kamenashi should have said no comment.”

 

They draw a picture with crappy crayons and Kame turns a blind eye, preferring to look at the black and white. He lets the questions run in his head, retraces his steps, every single word the reporters shot at him: “What are your thoughts on the withdrawal of Nishikido Ryo and Yamashita Tomohisa from NEWS?”

 

If he were human (he’s half a machine), then he might want to tell them, “It’s none of your business, ask something relevant to the drama.”

 

 

*

 

 

Truth be told, Kame would rather jump under a bus than leave KAT-TUN.

 

 

*

 

 

“Why did you lie?” Yamashita asks, turning off the television. He looks like hell with the eye bags and messy hair. He’s probably been sleeping all day though. It’s probably anxiety, maybe guilt that’s running him ragged.

 

“I always lie. It’s my job,” Kame replies, sitting down on the sofa and letting Ran crawl into his arms. Geri’s already using Yamapi’s lap as her pillow. He smiles when his darling girl plants a doggy kiss on him. “Hi baby girl.”

 

“You lied for me.”

 

“Who said it was for you?”

 

“I came to you. I might have been half out of my mind, but—you lied, right to the press.”

 

Kame strokes Ran’s fur, smiling when she relaxes under his touch. “Last year, right before we went onto stage, I said that I had no idea that Akanishi was back in Japan and that no, he wasn’t leaving KAT-TUN.”

 

“You couldn’t have known, not back then,” Yamashita says quietly.

 

“I’ll let you keep thinking that,” Kame replies quietly. He hugs Ran to his chest, letting her sooth his heartache. “I didn’t lie for you. I was just trying to make the conference for my drama go smoothly.”

 

Yamashita’s smile is wry. “Did it though?”

 

“It never stood a chance, not since you started a media shitstorm by walking out.”

 

“Harsh.”

 

“It’s not like you don’t deserve it.”

 

Yamashita turns the television back on. There was an earthquake in Bali, there are missiles in Libyan, NASA wants to launch a new satellite. For a moment, their world expands.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s no surprise that Ran and Geri yip for Yamashita to scratch their tummies. Yamashita’s always been good with girls. He sits around in the apartment in Kame’s clothes—he pulls out the old flannel shirts that Kame denies ever owning and looks like a hobo.

 

Kame would call it ridiculous but he’s got enough in his plate. Radio, photoshoots, interviews, drama, television filming, sports location filming, deny that he talks to Yamashita, listen to Nakamaru’s concern, ignore the huge poster in Shibuya with Akanishi Jin on it with a broken microphone.

 

Yamashita doesn’t cook, he doesn’t clean.

 

“You’re like those high school graduates who had no idea what they want to do so they decide to take a year off studying and end up sitting in their parents’ place, watching bad daytime television,” Kame says when he comes back at three am after a long night of filming. His head hurts from wearing a wig for hours and all he wants is a hot bath and to take off his screen makeup.

 

“Except I’ve graduated high school. And I feed your dogs. I also took them for a walk in the park. We played fetch.”

 

“Oh, good for you,” Kame mutters. He goes to take his bath and when he comes out, Yamashita’s asleep on the sofa. There are tabloids scattered over the coffee table and Kame takes them, tosses them into the bin and he figures that the walk in the park meant a stop by the combini to hear what the rest of the world is saying.

 

He gets Yamashita a blanket, covers him and retreats to the bedroom.

 

 

*

 

 

Kame’s going crazy, the urge to push Yamashita up against a wall rising and destroying any sense of propriety Kame has for a co-worker.

 

To his defence, they’re former co-workers because Shuji and Akira are so 2005.

 

In his head, Kame justifies it all—he’s picked up a stray and that’s all there is to it.

 

Yamashita breaks the rice cooker the first time he tries to cook and Kame bans Yamashita from the kitchen. The last thing Yamashita needs on his conscience is the destruction of Kame’s kitchen (the question is why Kame gives a damn about Yamashita’s conscience, but then he labels the concern down as how Kame would explain it to insurance because that’s never fun.)

 

Sometimes, Yamashita spends hours on the phone.

 

Kame doesn’t invade on the privacy, letting Yamashita use his bedroom for those obscenely long phone-calls. Although, Kame wonders why half the time Yamashita looks even more upset after those calls.

 

He never asks—Kame thinks that they’ve ripped off enough stitches for the time being.

 

 

*

 

 

Yamashita’s the first to notice.

 

“How much weight have you lost?” he asks one night, right after Kame’s come out of the bath and he’s finished watching a foreign film on the cable channel Kame signs up to but never tunes into.

 

“It’s fine,” Kame mutters, sitting down on the sofa. He dumps the towel over his head, sighing. “You of all people should know it’s normal.”

 

“You’re got too much going on,” Yamashita says plainly.

 

“It’s my job,” Kame snaps. He clenches his teeth and rubs the towel over his head. “It should be yours too.”

 

“It’s not healthy to lose weight so fast,” Yamashita continues, like he hasn’t heard Kame at all. “You’ve stopped eating breakfast.”

 

“Can you stop paying attention to that?”

 

“You could develop a stomach ulcer from stress,” Yamashita goes on.

 

“Shut up,” Kame hisses. “Just because I took you in doesn’t mean you have a right to comment on my lifestyle. If you want to add to my task list, then you can get out of my house.”

 

“And if I don’t care, who will?” Yamashita snaps. “It’s not like you’ve got anyone to look out for you. Your group, they should know to monitor you—”

 

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

 

Yamashita looks at him, swallowing down whatever he had left to say.

 

“Tell me, Kamenashi, are you ever sorry for the things you say to people?” Yamashita asks him, voice soft and his eyes honest. “You don’t regret it, when you just cut into people like that?”

 

“I’m going to bed.”

 

“Stop walking away.”

 

“Oh, this is coming from you?” Kame shouts, throwing the towel to the ground. “You of all people have no reason to speak up against me.”

 

“Get off your high horse and take a look in the mirror. You’re losing weight; you have a group with three members doing dramas this season. Someone has to look after you and I might be quite useless at the most, but I’ll be damned if you run yourself into the ground.”

 

“So you’re saying I can’t handle a full schedule? Have you met me?”

 

Yamashita raises an eyebrow. “Coffee with no sugar. But cream in the mornings. That’s what you like. Go to bed, you’re too tired to argue.”

 

And he’s right. Kame falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

 

 

*

 

 

There’s a slight comfort in the fact that Yamashita hasn’t picked up a drink since he started using Kame’s house as his bomb shelter.

 

Kame’s living room has turned into some bizarre land of tabloid magazines, soft drink cans and Ran and Geri’s constant attempts to gain extra tummy scratches. Yamapi’s takeover is messy, stupid and adds warmth to the house that Kame refuses to admit.

 

 

*

 

 

He lives a lie, glossing over the fact that he’s hiding prime suspect number one (good god, Kame’s harbouring a media fugitive, maybe he’ll burn in idol hell for this) and he pretends it’s fine.

 

For what it’s worth, Kame’s always been good at covering things up. He’s covered up a lot of things in his time—‘the dream’ for one. He sometimes remembers the dream which was a batting cage, three bases and a home.

 

Sometimes, he misses it, the grass-stains on his pants and the longing to hear the announcer’s voice so rapid and crisp over the speaker, “And that’s right, player number twenty three, Kamenashi Kazuya, has hit a homerun for the final bat of the game, he’s cleaning it up for the Tokyo Giants and look at the scoreboard, ladies and gentlemen.”

 

Yamashita continues with his hobo lifestyle and starts collecting stamps.

 

Kame resists the urge to smash the wall in with his baseball bat.

 

 

*

 

 

It gets worse when Kame finds out that Yamashita’s been using his printer. There’s paper all over the living rooms, printed from media websites, from Twatter or Twotter (Kame still doesn’t understand it because what exactly does one Tweet about?) and then there’s the ones with journal entries from fans in their personal blogs, with heartfelt anger or sorrow or something else all together.

 

And then there are the letters.

 

Maybe Yamashita goes beyond the park and the conbini, maybe he goes into work because there’s no other way he could have gotten the sack of fan letters.

 

The letters lie open, tearstained and neat kanji with pleas and cries for their idol to not betray them, not to betray NEWS and this is when it really hits.

 

There’s no way Yamashita could have gone through all of them, but perhaps he’s read more than enough.

 

Kame finds print outs and he finds tabloids and he finds that Yamashita’s hiding in the bedroom.

 

He’s got a handful of letters in his hand, from where he’s hiding within the pillow fortress he’s built for himself on Kame’s bed. The comforter seals the pillow fortress together, just one more layer of futile defence.

 

Kame leans against the doorframe, letters in his hand as well.

 

He wants a bath, he wants sleep. His feet ache. Work is taking toll on him (he’s lost more weight, he forgot to eat for the entire day, but doesn’t even have the energy to take a bite) and Kame wants to pull the blanket away, dig Yamashita out from the mess and yell at him to man up.

 

Kame takes the couch, ignoring his aching back and reads the rest of the letters for Yamashita.

 

 

*

 

 

Kazuya wonders if Tomohisa is crying himself to sleep. He wants to know if he could have helped in any way at all.

 

 

*

 

 

This is the moment that they could miss if they think to blink, Kame realises. Yamashita shaking his shoulder to wake him up and it’s some absurd moment between night and dawn and Yamashita’s shaking. Kame sits up on the couch, watching as Yamashita collapses.

 

“Help me,” and that’s all that can really be said in this instance, “Will you please help me?”

 

Yamashita’s begging, anguish written all over his face. He’s on his knees on the floor, head in Kame’s lap.

 

Kame hesitates, placing a hand on Yamashita’s head, stroking his fingers through brown hair that curls. The ends are dry, it’s damaged from years of heat styling and dye and that seems so insignificant but it’s all Kame can really focus on. He wants to break out the treatment mask, soothe the split ends and make it all smooth and shiny once more.

 

“Please. Help me,” Yamashita whispers.

 

Kame rubs Yamashita’s back soothingly, taking in slow, deep breaths.

 

Then he nods.

 

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll help you.”

 

 

*

 

 

Yamashita falls asleep next to Kame, no space between them on the bed.

 

One part of Kame wants to know whether it’s just been girls, whether there have been boys, whether it was once Akanishi that fell asleep next to Yamashita last year back in July with the same broken pleas.

 

He falls between sleep and consciousness and a confession he wished he could have taken back, Akanishi in front of him and the two of them looking at each other in the eye:

 

“I loved you,” and he had said it, heart in his throat. “I loved you once.”

 

And he remembers how Akanishi closed his eyes, just for a brief second and then shook his head. Akanishi had looked at him, pained and almost stung. “I know.”

 

And Kame remembers hitting the ground and shattering and wondering when did they decide to cut the threads between them.

 

He wakes up, trying to breathe and shaking. He wakes up, hand in Yamashita’s.

 

 

*

 

 

Kame has many faults, he’s stubborn and he knows just the right things to say to hurt a person. He knows how to compose himself for the press, to choose a path that’s to his advantage.

 

And he loves. Far too easily, he loves.

 

If he were to look back on history (the real history, not the one rewritten to say that he and Akanishi were professional, not the history in which he remains the good guy, because Kame was far from the protagonist of the story), Kame would say he’s just another holy fool.

 

Sometimes, he wants to call Kyoko-san and ask whether he hurt her just as badly. He doesn’t have the courage—he’s human and he makes mistake and perhaps, he’s a coward.

 

He should be a man about it.

 

(Kame’s just a kid; he’s just a kid who’s sucked into a superstar world where all the sparkle is a cover-up for decay.)

 

In retrospect, Kame’s just trying to stop himself from tripping over his own two feet.

 

 

*

 

 

The phone calls still happen. Kame comes home and Yamashita’s in the bedroom, on the phone and talking in soft tones, brows furrowed and shoulders hunched like the weight of the world’s crashed down onto him.

 

Slowly, Kame coaxes things out of Yamashita. He cooks fried rice, he makes childish drinks like a scoop of ice cream in Coca-cola just to make Yamashita laugh as it froths and bubbles up and Yamashita talks to him, tells him that it was coming for a long time, that Ryo got into a fistfight with him, that Jin yelled at him, he broke up with the girlfriend and that his best friends are meant to be this angry.

 

Yamashita tells him that it’s not a mistake, but they’re allowed to be unreasonably angry because Yamashita’s better than this, he shouldn’t have done this, not to NEWS who’s been good to him.

 

They delve in deeper; into the admittance that there were offers for songs and how Europe was more than a vacation but Yamashita won’t go that deep.

 

Kame does the washing up, nodding off every few minutes from exhaustion.

 

Yamashita takes over, shooing him to go take a shower.

 

There’s progress, snail pace progress. That’s all they can really ask for right now.

 

Ran and Geri sleep on their stomaches at night, the two of them clinging to whatever warmth the both of them can find.

 

 

*

 

 

Kame falls asleep at work, on sofas, on chairs, on the shoulder of the nearest person and everyone can see it. He hides his stray, drinks his coffee with cream in the morning and grits his teeth through the layers of prosthetic and make-up his drama requires.

 

He’s wearing thin.

 

Koki’s the one who saves him, the one who plays off his words with unbelievable affection in their interviews, Nakamaru his support and Taguchi putting warm drink cans in his hands in their breaks, Ueda barking at anyone who dares to try and wake Kame before it’s time to do so.

 

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he mumbles, stretched across the sofa in their dressing room. They’ve got ten minutes before they have to go to a blocking rehearsal for their new single.

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be alright,” Taguchi says. He’s all for cheap drinks and sharing them.

 

“We’ll kill you if you die,” Ueda adds, like that’s a comfort.

 

Koki snorts and get into an argument with Ueda over the lack of logistics behind that threat.

 

“You’re doing two dramas, why aren’t you dead yet?” Kame grumbles at Nakamaru.

 

“Oh jeez, thanks,” Nakamaru says, feigning hurt. “You’re a nice one, Kame.”

 

“Mm, I am, I’m totally nice.” And he takes a nap for the remaining few minutes they have left.

 

 

*

 

 

Yamashita’s not home when Kame’s home. It’s the evening for once, one of the few nights Kame can get more than two hours of sleep. Yamashita’s nowhere and Kame searches the bedroom, his storage cupboard, the pantry and the balcony.

 

Yamashita comes back two hours later, wincing and muttering that he wants a shower and no questions.

 

Kame leaves it at that, going to bed first and falls asleep to the sounds of Yamashita pacing in the living room, on the phone once more.

 

 

*

 

 

There are the nice confessions, the ones that are about how Yamashita thinks Tegoshi has so much talent, how one of his favourite moments are the six of them sitting around with Ryo playing the guitar and them singing old Mr Children songs or Konayuki together and then how Koyama made them breakfast the day the five of them crashed at his place one time.

 

Kame likes those confessions, smiles when Yamashita’s eyes light up and there’s a bit of life to him.

 

He still hates how Yamashita wears his old flannel because the hobo look doesn’t suit anymore.

 

Those confessions, the really nice ones, they sometimes come out over food or when Kame’s brushing his teeth for work and Yamapi’s got Ran in his arms and Geri nuzzling his toes.

 

A little bit, Kame’s heart skips and leaps in triumph when Yamashita smiles properly for the first time in awhile.

 

 

*

 

 

He finds out the dark secrets, the ones about how Yamashita used to break up with his girlfriends because he didn’t want to be left. He listens, when Yamashita tells him that Ryo and him fought over NEWS because one of them needed to stay but neither of them could and that it was just a mess.

 

He doesn’t want to admit it, Kame really doesn’t, but he can see why Jin yelled at Yamashita. He can understand and Kame wants to pick up the phone and thank Jin for being sane.

 

And Kame can barely hold onto his sanity when Yamashita comes out of the shower, the steam escaping the bathroom and his face dazed and hazy from the all-engulfing warmth.

 

Kame gets the strangest urges, the type that has him wanting to take Yamashita in his hands, break in all over once more so he can flip him upside down and try and piece Yamashita back together. He thinks if he did that, Kame could solve this.

 

He knows it’s wrong because once upon a time—

 

“I’m not here for your entertainment, I’m human as well,” Jin had snapped—they were still kids back then.

 

And Kame knows it’s wrong, oh so wrong because he looks at Yamashita in wifebeaters when he ambles around the house after a few hours at the gym and Kame wants to run his hands over Yamashita’s chest, leave nail marks over his back and he wants to mess Yamashita up once more.

 

Kame thinks he could be wrong. But he listens to Yamashita talk, coaxes it out with more warm food, less judgement and doesn’t say anything when Yamashita admits it, when Yamashita says what they both have been hiding all this time:

 

“I just want someone to love me,” because it’s beyond infatuation, because it’s beyond romance and it’s something perhaps out of touch and out of reach for the both of them.

 

 

*

 

 

“You’d think that I would be angry at Ryo for leaving. I’m not. It’s not fair to him, doing twice the amount of work and not being able to rest properly and split himself into two. I’d die if my heart were cut in half.”

 

There, that’s a confession, Kame thinks when he listens to Yamashita talk to him the next night, eyes shut and hugging a pillow to sleep.

 

“I’m not angry at Ryo. He has every right to be angry at me.” Yamashita finally cracks his eyes open. “NEWS deserves better than me.”

 

Kame hesitates, wondering if it’s alright—because he has no right, but either ways: “NEWS couldn’t have asked for more. You made your decision. Don’t have regrets.”

 

“I have far too much regrets and I think that even though people say I’m young, I have things I can’t do anymore now that I’ve come so far,” Yamashita says softly.

 

Kame smiles. “Screw the rules.”

 

“I’d like to do that,” Yamashita agrees. “Would you help me?”

 

“I might. I kinda want to screw the rules as well.”

 

 

*

 

 

The phone calls still happen.

 

Kame waits for that, he waits to hear Yamashita talk about it. He’s patient and he gets no answers and he thinks it could be Johnny or an executive threatening to cut Yamashita’s career short. He thinks that YamaPi might just be ended in those long conversations, but maybe he’s wrong. He doesn’t eavesdrop.

 

Kame wonders if he’s going soft, giving Yamashita the privacy he needs for those calls.

 

 

*

 

 

“You little liar,” Ueda says.

 

Kame stares, standing at the rehearsal room doorway.

 

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

 

“I have nothing to tell,” Kame says immediately.

 

Koki looks vaguely amused. “We’re not going to kill you, really,” he drawls. “Maybe torture you a bit.”

 

“And what could you do to me? Make me bungee jump?” Kame retorts, looking at Nakamaru who buries his face in his hand.

 

“How is he?” Taguchi asks, immediately put his arm around Kame’s shoulders. He’s probably Kame’s ally in all this—he’s Taguchi, after all. “Is he alright?”

 

“He’s however he is. He’s coping,” Kame says shortly.

 

Ueda studies him carefully, shares a glance with Koki. They both give Nakamaru a meaningful look, then Nakamaru sighs. Taguchi shrugs.

 

Kame glares at the four of them, irritated at the strange exchange of silent language.

 

“Just be careful,” Taguchi says, for all of them. “Please be careful.”

 

 

*

 

 

One day, Kame returns and finds his bedroom door locked.

 

He knocks on the door, hammers on it and yells abuse but Yamashita won’t unlock it.

 

“Is it NEWS?” Kame yells. “Is it Nishikido? Did Johnny kick you out?”

 

Nothing.

 

“Open up,” Kame snaps. He continues hammering on the door with his fist, yelling all sorts of horrible, angry things in hopes that Yamashita would just let him into the bedroom.

 

He gets nothing.

 

“I’ll throw you out tomorrow if you don’t.”

 

Still, nothing.

 

“I’ll leave, right now,” Kame threatens.

 

The door swings open and he sees Yamashita sitting on the floor, phone next to a curled up little ball that’s barely a man.

 

Kame drops his bag, immediately sitting down next to him.

 

“I won’t leave,” Kame says immediately. “Johnny didn’t kick you out and if Nishikido’s mean, then I’m pretty sure Akanishi will defend you because you three have that stupid special friendship that you all locked me out of and don’t worry, I really won’t throw you out because that’d be cruel and Ran and Geri would get lonely because they’re now so used to having someone here when I’m at work.”

 

Yamashita just nestles his head into Kame’s lap, saying nothing.

 

Kame takes the silence as an answer for his silent inquiry of, ‘are you okay’.

 

He sighs, rubbing his hand up and down Yamashita’s back.

 

“Okay,” Kame says. “Okay,” he repeats. “Okay, okay, okay.”

 

Slowly, the two of them fall asleep.

 

 

*

 

 

Johnny really doesn’t kick Yamashita out, thankfully. Kame hears a rumour that a solo career really might be there waiting for him, as in, almost set into stone.

 

Yamashita just stares at him, blankly with a coffee mug in hand.

 

 

*

 

 

The pillow fortress returns on the day when Yamashita prints out more blog reports and replays Koyama’s radio message over and over on YouTube (Kame’s surprised that Johnny hasn’t sent his minions out to copyright it, that Yamashita’s been reduced to stalker mode when it comes to things like this).

 

There’s a lump on Kame’s bed.

 

Yamashita doesn’t move, curled up with the blanket forming some soft shield around him.

 

Kame stares at the blanketed lump on his mattress, the lump that’s nested among all the pillows Kame possibly owns.

 

The blanketed lump is completely unmoving.

 

Kazuya takes a stab in the dark, “If you let someone love you, would it be okay?”

 

The lump remains silent.

 

“God damnit, what’s wrong with you?” Kame asks desperately, something aching in his chest. His throat is choked up and he keeps swallowing, like he’s nervous. This isn’t an interview, he’s not about to go on stage.

 

He keeps staring at his blanketed lump.

 

“Let me love you,” Kame says quietly. “I could love you.”

 

The lump shifts, ever so slightly.

 

Kame grabs all the pillows, tossing them aside and ripping the blanket away.

 

“I could love you,” Kame says, almost draping himself over Yamashita, breath warm in Yamashita’s ear. His fingers rake through hair, damaged hair and Kame really just stops caring. It’s okay if the hair is damaged. “You’d let me love you, wouldn’t you?” he asks, voice shaking and cracked.

 

Yamashita shuffles.

 

Kame hugs his lump, he hugs Yamashita and he repeats it over and over, “I’ll love you,” like it’s a mantra that could possibly keep them going.

 

 

*

 

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">I wish to cherish the experiences I’ve had with NEWS and do my very best.</font></blockquote>

 

Kame breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the fan letters neatly filed away and all the internet print outs in the bin.

 

 

*

 

 

He picks up the phone and makes a long distance call.

 

“Is he okay, is he alive, has he run away to Chiba and gotten a job as a ticket seller in at Disneyland?” Akanishi demands.

 

“He’s fine,” Kame replies, clenching and unclenching the hand not grasping the phone. “He’s okay,” he mutters.

 

“Good. Okay, good. Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Kame says flatly.

 

“Take care of him. I’m being a really bad friend right now, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to him—”

 

“If you mess up your debut over this, I can and will fly over there and mutilate you with a staple gun.”

 

Akanishi chokes on oxygen. “Uhm.”

 

“I’ll take care of this.” Kame sighs. “Seriously, you’re meant to be a professional. So be a professional. Don’t mess up.”

 

“Good luck for your drama,” Akanishi says, a bit stiff but perhaps honest. “Please. Take care of him.”

 

“I don’t need you to tell me that.” And he hangs up, job well done.

 

 

*

 

 

Their demons like to do the tango with the skeletons in the closet and it’s a bitch and a half to deal with. Kame figures that’s what the phone calls are about, because it does make sense. He almost wants to get on his knees and apologise wholeheartedly for the foolish threat he made, because he does get it. He understands.

 

He’s going borderline crazy, trying to be proper, trying not to mess up someone who’s already come apart at the seams.

 

To be honest, Kame’s good at that—pulling people apart however he wants to. He’s done it to himself, he’s done it to the cute Juniors he’s mentored, he’s done it to KAT-TUN (completely unknowingly, he’s not proud of it) and he nearly did it to Akanishi and—

 

“I’m not weak,” Yamashita mumbles, half asleep.

 

Kame’s sitting up, reading his script to revise for a scene he has tomorrow. He’s pretty sure he’s forgotten a few lines, he’s already got his sides ready, but still. He wants to be sure.

 

“You aren’t,” Kame says. “You’re just in a rough patch.”

 

“Do you really think you could love me?”

 

“Would you let me?” Kame replies.

 

Yamashita nods.

 

“Then go to sleep, I’m trying to prepare myself for work.”

 

He runs spiderlike fingers over Yamashita’s shoulders, over his biceps. Kame takes in a slow breath.

 

“You want to be inappropriate, huh?” Yamashita teases, sleep slurring his words. “Really inappropriate. Have you been perving on me, Kamenashi?”

 

“I perv on everyone. Look at KAT-TUN.”

 

“Huh. I’m insulted. You’re easy.”

 

“You’ll tell me about the phone calls one day, won’t you?” Kame asks quietly.

 

Yamashita nods. “Soon. Maybe. I hope so.”

 

“Okay then.”

 

 

*

 

 

Kame has problems. They all have problems. Kame’s just been good at hiding his problems.

 

 

*

 

 

“You have trust issues and you push your love onto people, but so do one million other people in the world. And you have so many complexes, oh and you’re pedantic and crazy and open and closed and a walking contradiction,” Nakamaru splutters. “I don’t want to talk about this with you. It’s weird and far too much information.”

 

“It’s not like that,” Kame insists.

 

“Then what is it like? You might want to clarify it before your mountain of complexes gives you two a roadblock,” Koki says flatly.

 

“You don’t get to talk, you’re in a long term relationship,” Ueda says flatly to Taguchi.

 

Taguchi closes his mouth, sulking with his PSP.

 

“But really, yeah. You need to clarify it,” Ueda agrees.

 

Kame mutters something about paranoid, silly, crazy. But he smiles, stealing the ebi fry from Nakamaru’s bento.

 

 

*

 

 

Yamashita goes out driving on some days. Those are the days he comes home later than Kame and seems more upset than anything else.

 

Kame doesn’t ask, just offers him some dinner and a beer.

 

Those are the shaky nights, the ones where Kame can’t do a thing and feels more helpless than he would prefer to be.

 

 

*

 

 

“It’s not a relationship,” Kame insists when Ueda labels it as thus.

 

“Then what is it, extended sleepover?” Koki deadpans.

 

Kame takes his shoe off, hurling it at Koki’s head.

 

“Isn’t it time for you to go to filming?” Taguchi pipes up.

 

“Once I’m done killing them,” Kame replies furiously, stomping over to make good his threat.

 

“No killing. We actually need the band. Go do your filming. Put a million emoji into your J-Web to make yourself feel better,” Nakamaru pleads from where he’s perched on a chair with Kame, Koki and Ueda running circles around it. “Seriously, guys.”

 

 

*

 

 

Kame looks through Yamashita’s stamp collections on the nights Yamashita’s out driving. They’re from all over Japan, some of the stamps collected from Europe. They’re pretty, Kame notes.

 

He wants to probe, wants to confirm it. He wants to know that he’s right, that he really did say the wrong, horrible thing that one time.

 

Yamashita comes home, struggling to breath, shaking all over.

 

Kame doesn’t ask. The skeletons and demons haven’t stopped their dance in the dark, not yet.

 

 

*

 

 

They build another pillow fortress; lie within it, fingers interlocked and faces barely an inch apart.

 

Yamashita quietly mutters things, the cobwebs that have been clouding his mind.

 

He tells the truth, the nose job that happened two years after he entered the jimusho—he didn’t want it, but he was so scared, so damn scared that he might not make it as an idol so he said yes and it’s almost unnoticeable because the bump wasn’t so pronounced. The only evidence is just a minuscule scar on the bridge of his nose (Kame remembers the offer, for a knife to reshape his flawed, raised nose bridge and how his mother threatened to withdraw Kame from the agency all together if so much as one cut was made).

 

He admits it, the nose fillers that he goes to every six or eight months, a discreet trip and how that night he came home wincing, that’s why Kame saw him in discomfort. Yamashita’s tone is mumbled; almost scared like he thinks Kame will leak his secrets. But it was enough, Yamashita tries to explain, it’s just enough because it’s not like they’re all clean, it’s not like every single boy in their agency in genetically blessed.

 

And it’s not like there’s anything in him. It’s just a small part of him cut off. Just one small bump that marred perfection. And it was hardly noticeable. People wouldn’t know if he doesn’t tell them.

 

Then he tells Kame about how he once kissed Jin—it tasted like candy because they were home from a day at a festival and Jin had been eating sweets all day, all the way back home and they were just kids and Yamashita just wanted to know what it’d be like.

 

He whispers secret things that he’s probably told no one else.

 

Kame listens (because yes, he could love Yamashita. He could love everything about him, even with a knife to the nose and a kiss to the boy they both might have wanted at one point).

 

 

*

 

 

“I’m scared. I’m so scared because people will look at me and they’ll think I’m absolutely good for nothing,” Yamapi says quietly.

 

So Kame tells him the truth: “I’m scared one day I won’t be me anymore. That’s the thing that worries me the most.”

 

 

*

 

 

Kame tells Yamashita about how he likes to have sex, he likes spiralling out of control because it’s simple—Kame’s so in control, Kame lives by the rulebook so he likes it dirty, likes it rough and he hates himself in the morning but it’s how he needs it.

 

He admits to the eyelid glue, how he cried when he got his piercing done and that he once cheated on a test in middle school because he managed to slide a cheat sheet up his sleeve. He was desperate, Kame tells Yamashita. He was damn desperate.

 

The important things, like how Kame wants to mess Yamashita up, he tells him that as well. He elaborates, whispers that he wants to break Yamashita and reform him so no one can recognise him is just a purely selfish desire because Jin was never entirely Kame’s and KAT-TUN belongs to Johnny and Japan and Kame’s a possessive son of a bitch. He tells the truth about how once, he misdirected a guy to the other side of Shibuya because he wanted so badly to be in a Shounen Club recording (that guy, as it turned out was Ueda. So no lost love there.)

 

Kame quietly says that he’s too scared to play baseball professionally because he’s now just a pretty boy with athletic ability and that he can never graduate from it. He’s jealous of his younger brother. Also, he wishes he were like his older brother and settled down with a family. He admits to it all, the skipping of meals just to lose that extra kilo or maybe increasing his protein to get all those muscles for his homerun project and how he hated eating just chicken and fish with no rice for those months.

 

He talks about his mother, talks about his father, about his grandmother and the days where he was wearing hand-me-downs, how he hated not being able to afford nice things and that’s why he worked hard, that’s why he worked so damn hard.

 

And he admits it, that sometimes he hates himself, that he’s fearful of being just a vapid, shallow shell of a person. And Kame confesses that he wonders if Kamenashi Kazuya the person even exists right now because Kamenashi Kazuya of KAT-TUN has been in the spotlight for so long.

 

 

*

 

 

There are moments when Kame wonders where it’s all going.

 

“You could try and reconcile with NEWS,” he advises when they watch Music Station, when Nishikido Ryo could either be reciting a message from his heart or a script provided by Johnny. “You could try,” Kame says quietly.

 

“Tell me about Jin,” Yamashita says. He’s in an oversized black Toshiba t-shirt, he’s got so many of those. The company hasn’t dropped him as their campaign boy, not yet. At least Yamashita still has market value, as small that significance might be.

 

“He’s your best friend,” Kame replies. “Tell me about the ex-girlfriend.”

 

“She taught my sister English. She was just there. She was nice. She was different.”

 

“Why’d you break up?”

 

“I think that certain events resulted in me cutting off certain persons in my life,” Yamashita states tersely. “This hasn’t got to do with anything, not at all.”

 

“I’m trying to help you,” Kame says, voice soft. He turns off the television, clears the coffee cups from the table and moves the conversation to the kitchen. He doesn’t voice up how familiar Yamashita is with where Kame keeps the spare dishcloths, how Yamashita knows where the sugar is. He lets it remain as it is.

 

“Maybe I’m beyond help. Perhaps I’m a lost cause. You’d like that, would you?” Yamashita mutters as he searches for the tea Kame keeps in the pantry. “You could topple me easily, snatch up my popularity—”

 

“And I could love you.” Kame cuts him off, renders Yamashita speechless. “I could do so much to you, I could hurt the people in my life and I have. But I can love you, I can help you. I’m not saying that you get on your hands and knees in front of the other four, I’m not saying that you and Nishikido had no right to brawl like rowdy school children, but—”

 

“You don’t understand,” Yamashita explodes. “You don’t get it.”

 

Enlighten me, Kame wants to challenge. He wants to see Yamashita shout, he wants to see it all vivid and painted by ugly words and he wants to know because Kame thinks that there’s more to this. He knows there is.

 

“Koyama has been nothing but respectable.”

 

“I know.” Because Kame cannot help but wonder where Koyama found such strength—Kame certainly lacked it, Kame’s not sure if he could ever compose himself in the same manner Koyama has. It took all of his self control not to snap at the media in his press conference. “Koyama is respectable,” Kame agrees.

 

“And I don’t deserve it. I walked away,” Yamashita says, taking one shuddering breath. “I walked away from good people.”

 

Kame watches as Yamashita leans against the counter, shoulders shaking. He watches, reaches a hand out and presses it lightly against Yamashita’s back. “You made a choice,” Kame tells him. “I’m not here to make it better. But I can help you deal with it.”

 

“I walked away,” Yamashita repeats, hollow.

 

 

*

 

 

They were making so much progress. They made so much progress and now, it’s almost like they’re back to square one. Kame looks at himself in the mirror, through the layers of foundation. He reaches a finger up, touches the bump on his nose bridge. It’s pronounced. His mother used to say it’s a lucky bump, it made him special.

 

Kame likes being special; he likes it and needs to be special. He’d be nothing otherwise.

 

He traces one slow line from the top of his nose, right over the pronounced bone that juts out and down the otherwise perfect diagonal line of his nose. He runs the finger up, over the raised nose bridge.

 

Ueda sits next to him, watching.

 

“Shut up,” Kame says, right before Ueda can talk.

 

His friend laughs. “Thinking of getting it fixed? Don’t.”

 

“Says you. You’ve got the best profile in the band,” Kame retorts. “No facial flaws for you.”

 

“Kame, people dedicate websites to your nose. It’s creepy, but it’s true.”

 

“Suppose I had gotten some work done, suppose—”

 

“Kame, we all know about the eyelid tape and the glue and how the braces helped your crooked teeth and the caps and the bleaching that makes them so shiny and white. None of us are perfect. At least you didn’t have a midlife crisis and get yourself inked up.”

 

“I can hear you,” Koki grumbles.

 

“Do you think I should have gotten my eyes cut?” Kame asks. Sometimes he still uses the glue, sometimes he thinks the crease isn’t deep set enough. “It’s a permanent solution.”

 

“People would know,” Nakamaru speaks up, looking slightly queasy at the topic on hand. “You can’t do stuff with your nose if you put plastic in it.”

 

“I’d just get the bump taken out, get my eyes set properly. You would hardly notice.”

 

“We’d know. And we like you as you are,” Taguchi says stubbornly, sitting himself on Kame’s other side.

 

Taguchi pulls Kame’s hand away from the nose bump he keeps touching. He smiles a perfect mega wattage Taguchi smile.

 

“We like you and your nose bump and that dorky smile and how your cheeks get chubby like a chipmunk. And I think that we could tell you that every day for the rest of your life and we could write in the sky, but in the end it’s you who looks in the mirror. Love the you that you hate,” he sings, stupidly well timed cliché and all.

 

“I never made a choice about it. A real choice, I probably should,” Kame mutters.

 

“You’ve been making it since debut, you’ve been making it since you were twenty because you could walk into a clinic and get it fixed right now. Hell, do you want me to drive you?” Ueda says flatly. “I wouldn’t be happy about it, but better me than a taxi, right?”

 

Nakamaru flaps his hands in the air, almost worried for a fight that might break out and result in broken bones. “Don’t say that.”

 

“Why not? I have no hair, I’m being forced to wear this stupid wig all the time. A nose job isn’t like a bottle of dye. It’s permanent. And we’ve dealt with you murdering your hair with flat irons, your excessive layering of foundation, your yo-yo weight for over six years, so why the hell do you want to go off and make us deal with you changing your already stupid nose that we’re used to?”

 

Kame stares.

 

Ueda folds his arms across his chest. “Koki agrees with me.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Koki splutters. “I’m reading a magazine. And you insulted my ink.”

 

“You aren’t really going for a nose job, right?” Nakamaru asks worriedly. “Kame, maybe you should talk to someone about it. We like you as you are.”

 

Kame looks at himself in the mirror, pushes the hair and the bangs from his face. He shakes his head. “No. I was just wondering, that’s all.”

 

 

*

 

 

“I can’t help you if you give me nothing to work with,” Kame says, ambling out of his bathroom with a towel over his head.

 

“You take long showers. And they’re really hot showers. Look, the steam’s following you out,” Yamashita notes, pointing to where the steam’s wafting out of the en suite bathroom. “Are you sure it’s healthy to take super hot showers?”

 

“Do you listen to me at all?” Kame asks tiredly. He sits on the edge of the bed. “Tell me about the phone calls.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“You can.”

 

He wants to make a ten step program, wants to write it down and find a way to get Yamashita to stick to the guide—Kame knows the rules, Kame’s had them engraved on his heart since day one (he wants a fair game, a real victory) and he wants to do exactly what Yamashita’s asking. He wants to help.

 

Kame dislikes failure. Kame _hates_  uselessness.

 

“Akanishi called me about you,” Kame says finally.

 

Yamashita shrugs.

 

“He called me. He called me for you. Do you know how much—you know, he and I barely exchange New Year’s cards. And he called me for you.”

 

“Okay,” Yamashita replies.

 

“Okay,” Kame repeats, stunned. “Okay?”

 

It renders him speechless, Yamashita’s flat response to exactly what he’s asking for.

 

“He called. For you,” he draws it out, tries to make it obvious but perhaps it already is. Kame’s shaking, he’s  about to go crazy because it’s impossible to not make it personal. They’re already drowning in insanity—they chose to sign their lives away, it’s not like someone put a gun to their head. This is their life and this is how they have to cope but Kame’s only human. He’s only human.

 

He thinks it’s personal, he thinks that fate is turning and trying to fuck him sidewards.

 

“He’s unknowingly selfish, he’s ambitious, he’s talented. But he’s a friend—when we were friends, when he cared, he wouldn't stop caring. He cares,” and it’s funny, how the words Kame say are the words that wound him. He looks at Yamashita, a stony statue and wonders if this is him acting, if that’s his talent.

 

“I know.”

 

Kame can barely get the words out anymore, “What is wrong with you?”

 

It’s barely even a whisper.

 

“It’s like you don’t care about anything anymore.”

 

Yamashita lies down, pulls the blankets over himself and goes to sleep.

 

 

*

 

 

“It’s unhealthy.”

 

“It’s none of your business,” Kame snaps.

 

Ueda grabs him by the collar, shoves him against the wall and hisses, “Kame, abandon ship.”

 

“He’s not a boat.”

 

“No, a boat isn’t used to sail out in the big blue ocean of disaster.”

 

 

*

 

 

He’s not sheltering a fallen hero, nor is he rescuing a drowning man. Kame is doing nothing, started something for someone.

 

Yamashita’s heart could be on the floor, but Kame isn’t the one who walked all over it. He never broke it in the first place.

 

Kame tries to resurface, tries to gasp for sweet oxygen as he reawakens for the fatal spell he put himself under.

 

 

*

 

 

When he comes home, Yamashita’s sitting in the genkan, waiting for him. Kame doesn’t have to say a word, he just shakes his head when Yamashita looks at him. (He shouldn’t be allowed to look at people like that, he shouldn’t be allowed to make the world stop turning with a look like that.) Kame pulls off his shoes and sits down with him.

 

“I told you. I said I could love you,” and that wasn’t a lie. Kame lies, but not to that extent. “I didn’t say I would try.”

 

There’s no rationality to any of this, because the truth is that Kame has his own life to lead. There’s no rationality to abandonment but there’s no sense in fighting for a lost cause. It wasn’t his cause to begin with, he never volunteered, he was simply—

 

“I wanted someone. I just needed somebody,” Yamashita says.

 

“You called me because once, we were professionals who worked together. Because I was once the train wreck and you were the one on top of the world. But it’s over,” but maybe it’s not just the reality that they’re facing, maybe it’s the fact that no, Kame was no help at all. Kame hates it, resents himself for being useless. But it’s the truth. That’s what he was. “I can’t help you.”

 

“Did you try?”

 

And in all honesty, “I did.”

 

Yamashita puts on his shoes.

 

But he can’t help but ask, Kame tries to hold it back, but he doesn’t: “Did I break you? Did I mess you up? Did I fail you in any way?”

 

“Are you even put back together, Kamenashi?” Yamashita replies simply. “How can you accept me if you can’t even accept yourself?”

 

And like that, he leaves.

 

 

*

 

 

Kame sits under the shower until his hair is plastered to his forehead, until his fingers run wrinkly. He sits there, like that will solve anything. Strange, though. It’s like he’s been there before, but for someone else entirely.

 

 

*

 

 

He hears things, little things from people he works with or maybe from the Juniors or even Nakamaru. But Kame keeps his ears open because it’s the only way he can know. It’s the only way he can set himself to ease. He doesn’t call Akanishi (Jin can call his precious Yamapi if he’s so worried, Kame’s not a carrier pigeon) and he sleeps with no pillows, unable to find proper rest.

 

Yamashita’s back together with the girlfriend,

 

Yamashita’s got a secret project.

 

NEWS is working hard, they might have more group work early next year. Did you know, NEWS actually might make it through?

 

Kame finds himself tired, sleeping every chance he gets and far too tired to put food into his mouth. The drama, the radio show, the television show, everything’s sucking the life out of him and he can barely function. He pushes through. He has to.

 

He needs to be Kamenashi Kazuya.

 

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Ueda says one day, when the two of them are early to the photo studio. “He left you.”

 

“He didn’t leave me. He just went back to stay at his place. I was just—”

 

“It’s strange,” Ueda notes. “Because he’s moved on and you haven’t.”

 

“You speak like it was something. It was nothing,” Kame says harshly.

 

Ueda’s smile is thin, wry almost. “Kame, you’re allowed to be upset. Or angry. All you are is a robot. You’re human, you’re allowed to hate him for walking out.”

 

“It’s what he does,” Kame spits. “I never—just don’t. So please just say ‘I told you so’ so we can get this over with.”

 

“There’s no ‘I told you so’ because I actually thought you could have been happy.”

 

And the sad thing is, Kame wonders of what might have been and what he doesn’t have, not anymore.

 

 

*

 

When he said once upon a time, it wasn’t that long ago. Because Kame did say ‘I love you’ to the wrong person, he did let himself fall head over heels for someone who couldn’t—wouldn’t—have him and he spent time searching for warmth from others.

 

He ignored Jin, he pushed Jin aside. He doesn’t know why, maybe because he was tired of an endless battle, maybe because they grew up and apart; all the possibilities, Kame never explored them and never really wanted to. It’s too late now anyways.

 

He’s not proud of it, not proud of how a bottle of wine had been a close friend of his. He’s sad to say the taxi rumours, they’re not far from the truth and that his lawyer’s disappointment in the police station had been heavy and painful and drawn out.

 

Kame’s not proud of it, not proud of himself.

 

 

*

 

 

He tried to be strong. He really did.

 

 

*

 

 

He’s not put back together. He’s dark and twisted and Kame misses the rush, the air, the freedom of an open field. Kame finds no faces in the crowd, he finds no crowd at all. The stage he wants to stand on, he worries it’s perhaps dissolving underneath him, the curtain still hung heavy in front of him.

 

Maybe it’s all disappearing, dreams and expectations.

 

Maybe he’s disappearing as well.

 

“You aren’t being fair,” Kame says to Yamashita. “You don’t get to walk out like that.”

 

“You said you’d try, that you’d help. What was I meant to do when you didn’t?” Yamashita snaps.

 

They shouldn’t be talking, not in a stairwell but there’s no one around. They shouldn’t be talking at work, not where it’s meant to be professional but hey, there’s no pillow fortress so maybe this is the best they can do.

 

“You don’t get it, do you? You say no one understands but have you ever thought that it’s you that doesn’t understand?” Kame hisses.

 

Yamashita scoffs, shaking his head. “Right. Because you’re that good, you know how to handle everything, don’t you, Kamenashi?”

 

“I pulled you off the floor of a bar.”

 

“And from what I heard, people have done the same for you.”

 

“This is me trying, don’t you see?” Kame explodes. “I’ve been there, we’ve all been there. So what, the world is screwed. So what, you have issues. But it doesn’t mean that you put everything on hold. You deal with them.”

 

“And this,” Yamashita retorts, “this isn’t me dealing? I’m at work. I’ve gotten work. I’m getting my life back on track.” 

 

“Right, after you spent time sitting on my sofa, watching bad day time television like a bum. I’m sure that was you dealing with your problems. Tell me, are you still driving around at night?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Are you still not talking to Nishikido and Akanishi, the two people who are meant to be your best friends?”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“And your nose, you still paranoid that people can tell that it’s not what you were born with?”

 

Within an instance, Yamashita grabs him, shoves him and has Kame slammed against a wall with his hands fisted in Kame’s shirt material and an ugly snarl riding over his features. He’s barely composed—hardly, in fact.

 

“I’m far from perfect, I hate who I’m being and yes, maybe I’ve screwed up somewhere along the line,” Kame continues, never mind that Yamashita might smash his face in, never mind that all the progress, every word they’ve said to each other and those evenings with the pillows and the bad television and his dogs in their laps, that’s all gone now, “But I never turned my back. And that’s what you don’t know how to do. You walk out. You don’t know how to face up to things.”

 

“I said shut up!” Yamashita yells, pressing Kame firmer into the wall, their faces barely apart. “You’re a fucking hypocrite. You say you’re not perfect but you act like you’re better than the rest of us. You’re interfering and it’s not helping me, you hardly even care. You don’t get to say things like that, you don’t get to break me.”

 

“You don’t get to say that about me,” Kame says quietly.

 

“Why not, you get to criticise me, why can’t I do the same to you?”

 

Kame looks at him and he’s sorry. He really is.

 

“This is me trying. Because this is me trying to be sparkly and okay. I’m trying not to be broken, I’m _trying_. So you don’t get to judge me,” he says to Yamashita. “Ever.”

 

And like clockwork, Yamashita lets go and walks away.

 

 

*

 

 

He slides down, slowly. His back is still against the cold cement of the stairwell and Kame’s trying to stop himself from collapsing.

 

No one can stop it, Kame himself can hardly stop himself from shivering. He balls up, hugs his knees to his chest. And he sits there. He sits for awhile, for a long time. He should be responsible, should go to work. He should be okay. Men don’t cry. He’s a grown up. It’s not okay if he cries. He shouldn’t let himself be like this, no one should ever see him like this.

 

Perhaps, it’s a good thing that no one passes by the stairwell, that no one can hear him forgetting how to be put back together and shiny and okay.

 

 

*

 

 

Fate really fucking hates him.

 

 

*

 

 

“You know, I think he needs help. Actual help,” Kame says.

 

Taguchi listens.

 

“Like, if he could see someone. Someone who could actually, professionally help him.”

 

“A counsellor,” Taguchi translates.

 

Kame nods.

 

“I wish we could all get help. We could all be happy, don’t you think?” Taguchi remarks. “You must really want him to be okay. You’re worrying about him, still.”

 

“Yeah,” Kame murmurs. “I want him to be okay.”

 

“Are you alright?” Taguchi asks.

 

Kame shakes his head. “But I’ll make it through.”

 

“You’ll always have us,” Taguchi says. He smiles. “You won’t ever lose us.”

 

“You know, the rumours about me wanting to go solo—”

 

“We wouldn’t let you walk away. So do the same. Don’t let him walk away.”

 

 

*

 

 

He calls Akanishi.

 

“I did love you too,” are Akanishi’s first words. “But god, I hated you so much. I don’t know why, but sometimes you made me want to shout so much until I had nothing else to say. But, for what it’s worth, I did love you.”

 

“Did he call you?”

 

“No. Nakamaru did. He said that Pi’s gone. That you’re back in a wasteland again.”

 

Kame spits nails. “I am not back in a wasteland.”

 

Akanishi sighs. “Kamenashi, I have no right to ask you this, but he’s my best friend. He matters to me.”

 

“Then come back. You come back and fix him, because I can’t.”

 

“I don’t have that right anymore,” Akanishi snaps. “I lost all rights to fixing and helping and telling him what’s right or wrong when I told him that his justification for leaving NEWS was weak. The irony is that it’s what I wanted. He wanted to go off on his own, do things the way he sees it, the way he wants to do it. Like I do. And I said it was weak. That’s why we’re mad at each other, because I don’t see the justification in it all.”

 

“Well, isn’t karma a bitch?” Kame mutters.

 

“Yes, I can see the irony,” Akanishi snaps, “But I’m not the problem here. And it’s not like I can just fly over and rescue him from whatever’s going on in his head.”

 

“Why not? It’d be dramatic and it’d be perfectly called for in this scenario,” Kame says dryly. “It’d work out.”

 

“I doubt it.” Akanishi sighs. “You know, it was easier when we were kids. It was so much better as well. No one really had worries and all I wanted was to be famous.”

 

“It was different for all of us,” Kame says, because he recalls that he wanted to quit, but then he realised that he could be and he took a great leap of faith. “We all had different dreams then and we have different dreams now.”

 

“You know, Pi once said that he wanted to be noticed. And it’s impossible to not be noticed,” Akanishi tells him, voice thick with concern. “So, I don’t know. I really don’t know, Kamenashi. What the fuck. Aren’t we meant to be the ones who people love? Aren’t we meant to be the ones without problems? Aren’t we meant to be the perfect ones?”

 

“We are,” Kame agrees, “But I think we’d have to believe in that for it to be real.”

 

“So do you? Believe it, I mean.”

 

“I wish I did. I think we all wish we did.”

 

 

*

 

 

There was the chance that he might not have made it into Johnny’s. He could have skipped the audition, but he didn’t. He ended up on the other side of Shibuya and ran across town with Nakamaru and their mothers to make it to the correct location, to stand there and dance and be sorted into a group for an interview.

 

But, everyone knows the ending to that story. Kamenashi Kazuya, in his dirty baseball uniform, made it into Johnny’s with his puberty-induced acne, crooked teeth and really bad hair cut.

 

Secretly, he tries to track down all photos of himself and hides them away. His brothers call him crazy but Kame thinks they don’t get it, that they don’t understand.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with it, what you used to look like. Or maybe you just don’t like who you used to be,” Koki theorised once. “All that psychology bullshit, I don’t know. Maybe there’s a book on it.”

 

Kame ignored him, but deep down, maybe it is psychology. Maybe he had some deep, crazy issue or maybe it’s not so deep, it could just be on the surface, making ripples in some otherwise calm pond.

 

He hates the people who dig it up, who point it out that he’s a fake, that he’s a persona and that he’s built himself on a template. Maybe he hates that they’re right, that he tries so much harder to prove them wrong but sometimes it drives home the point.

 

Everyone has their stories, everyone has their problems. Everything starts when they don’t want it to—

 

Yamashita wasn’t meant to happen, wasn’t meant to start (they weren’t friends when they were younger)—

 

—Well, they were.

 

They were friends. Then they had that stupid fight in the park. Akanishi was there, but back then, Akanishi was actually Jin and there was a difference between them being friends, them being awkward, there was a difference being kids and now being grown-ups—

 

Kame ignores the looks, the significant looks everyone gives him because they won’t stop looking at him. They look and he knows that they know, that they’re looking because they’re worried, because they know and any second, they’re sure that any moment he’ll go off like a god damn time bomb.

 

Nakamaru hovers. He hovers like a little helicopter.

 

“Don’t say you’re fine. Because every time you tell us you’re fine, that’s like signalling us to get into positions to worry about you,” Nakamaru warns.

 

“Don’t. I’m not the problem.”

 

“Kame, look me in the eye and tell me that you aren’t a mess, that none of this is affecting you at all,” Nakamaru pleads.

 

And he can’t, Kame realises. He can’t be honest about that, and it’s awful. And that’s another failure to chalk up, that maybe he’s backsliding, that he’ll go back to something awful, something toxic and acidic that seeps and destroys everything he touches.

 

“Okay, let’s just get this straight: you care about him, right?” Nakamaru asks slowly.

 

Kame closes his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Nakamaru. How the hell am I meant to know? He’s not my problem.”

 

“But you care.”

 

“I don’t want to.”

 

Nakamaru sits with him, both of them with scripts and coffee and Kame falling asleep and then jerking awake within moments. They try to talk, try not to talk—it’s like Nakamaru’s treating him as though Kame’s a piece of tissue paper.

 

“Do you remember when it was you?” Nakamaru finally says.

 

Do I remember when the skeletons and the demons moved on from the tango and decided they wanted to do the freaking cha-cha, Kame wants to snap. “Yes, I remember.”

 

“And your problem. You know how, well. I’m not saying there’s something wrong with you,” Nakamaru adds, flustered and awkward. He’s squirming.

 

Kame’s gaze flickers from his work to his friend. “And?”

 

“And well, we care. I mean, we care about you when you’re fine and we cared when you had, you know, issues.”

 

“I know you did. You were all very helpful,” Kame says dully. “Do we really want to remind me of when I was a nutcase?”

 

“Kame, I say this with all the love in the world, but you’re our eternal nutcase in jeans. We’d be lost without you being a pedantic maniac who scares us with his psycho.”

 

“How is this helpful?”

 

Nakamaru’s hesitate at first, “Well, when you had the problems, we were worried. All of us. We were always worried. And it got worse and you wouldn’t talk, you wouldn’t open up. So sometimes, well,” and he surges on, confidence pushing him forward, “I think it’s because we sometimes made you talk and because sometimes we didn’t talk, that’s why you managed to figure it out.”

 

“This isn’t helpful.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Sorry. Not helping either, am I?”

 

“Not one bit,” Nakamaru agrees. “What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is that you can’t do it halfway. Like, it’s got to be either or. You need both. Yes or no. Black or white—”

 

“Heaven or hell,” Kame finishes.

 

“Yeah. Something along those lines,” Nakamaru murmurs. “Try—I mean, you could try again.”

 

“It’s not me that’s the problem. Not completely.”

 

Nakamaru pats him on the shoulder, awkward as ever. “I know. But you know, if we didn’t keep trying and trying, then maybe, I don’t know.”

 

Kame shakes his head, smiling despite it all. “Maybe I’d still be more broken and crazy.”

 

“Maybe,” Nakamaru admits. “Still, try?”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

 

*

 

 

Kame starts small.

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">I wouldn’t have noticed. Not if you hadn’t told me. It’s the type of stuff that doesn’t really matter.</font></blockquote>

 

It’s a small step. But this is what he can do, it’s trying and that’s what he does best. He scrawls on paper, draws a cartoon turtle in the corner.

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">Do you think it matters?</font></blockquote>

 

And he slides the letter into Yamashita’s work locker (he’s started more work after all, that’s what he says) and Kame hopes that maybe, this is helping. He takes small, tittering little steps and hopes. It’s the only thing he can do now.

 

 

*

 

 

When he turns up to work the next day, Kame finds a pink post-it stuck to his own locker.

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">It matters.</font></blockquote>

 

Kame takes the post-it, sticks it into his wallet and carries it around for the day. He carries it to filming, to the studio, everywhere he goes, the post-it goes with him. He goes to the toilet with his post-it.

 

It’s at the end of the day, he writes something else:

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">Why? Is that the only thing that matters? Tell me what matters.</font></blockquote>

 

And on the way out of the locker room, Yamashita walks in.

 

Kame doesn’t say a word, presses the letter into Yamashita’s hand with a simple, “Otsukaresama.”

 

This is enough for now.

 

 

*

 

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">Friendship. Family. Success.</font></blockquote>

 

This time, it’s a text. Yamashita sends him another right after:

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">What matters to you?</font></blockquote>

 

Kame thinks the answer is simple, that the answer should be simple:

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">Happiness. Because those times, they come with happiness.

 

Are you happy?</font></blockquote>

 

 

*

 

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">No. Are you?</font></blockquote>

 

 

*

 

 

He writes on a pink post-it, sticks it onto Yamashita’s locker door before he rushes off for the day:

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">I want to be. Happiness is special, it’s something that you can barely grasp but it’s something that will always be familiar to you. It’s impossible to forget happiness, despite what it feels like half the time.</font></blockquote>

 

Kame thinks that his answer might be clichéd, that he might have failed at his attempt of being profound, at being a poet. His writing is cramped and all the words are in tiny hiragana and kanji and in ballpoint pen. But, at the end of the day, the post-it is gone from Yamashita’s locker door.

 

 

*

 

 

<blockquote><font face="Courier">I want to be happy too.</font></blockquote>

 

This time, the answer comes on as an email.

 

Kame prints it out, slides it into his folder that holds his scripts and his schedule and thinks about it. He thinks it could be possible, really.

 

 

*

 

 

His response, it’s when Yamashita’s leaving the locker and Kame’s entering to get his things for the day.

 

“I want you to be happy,” he says truthfully, to Yamashita and without a pen and paper.

 

Yamashita nods. “Okay.”

 

The answer isn’t flat, Kame realises. Maybe it’s the only answer Yamashita really knows at the moment.

 

“Would you like to try? I mean, happiness. Do you want to try for it?”

 

Yamashita nods.

 

Progress is small, but to Kame, he thinks it might be a flying leap.

 

“Hear me out?”

 

Yamashita nods once more.

 

“When Akanishi and I realised we couldn’t be friends, that was when I started trying to derail myself. It was like some part of me, that part was gone because when you lose a friend, when you fall, you want to rip out that part of yourself. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I know that it hurt him as well. But I was too stubborn, trying to ignore it all because he hurt me and I hurt him and it was another mess. That was a small mess.”

 

Yamashita stares.

 

“Last year, that was one time when I was really, just. I was a mess. Everyone has their secrets. I threw up a lot. It wasn’t always from drinking. Sometimes, it was to relieve stress or sometimes it was because I was so stressed. I tried to hide it. I tried to eat, I tried to have this, I don’t know. But I was lucky. People noticed. They—you know, they were relentlessly getting on my back and trying to help.” Kame takes in a deep breath. “What I’m saying is that—”

 

“I was searching for someone,” Yamashita says suddenly.

 

Kame smiles. “Okay,” he echoes.

 

 

*

 

 

He worries that they might go back to paper and post-its and emails. They might, really. He pushed, now Kame just needs to wait. He spends days without a conversation, without an answer but in the end, it’s all he can do. But he refuses to give up. He’ll wait and if it doesn’t work, he’ll figure it out.

 

There’s always Plan B.

 

(Plan B might entail taking Yamashita to a baseball game and seeing if that’ll help him emote. Kame thinks it might work, but he sort of has a feeling that it’s more for his own benefit than anyone else’s.)

 

Yamashita’s back on his doorstep once more.

 

“Hey,” he says, casual and cautious all at once. “Want to go for a drive?”

 

“Are we searching?” Kame asks carefully.

 

Yamashita nods.

 

“Alright.”

 

The drive takes them around Tokyo. Sometimes, Yamashita stops and opens up a small notebook and then opens up a book that has all his stamps and then he starts driving again. Once in awhile, he consults a map. There are moments when he gets out of the car, just to talk to an old lady or someone that runs a combini or something like that.

 

Kame wants to push, just a bit more. Maybe he could.

 

“I thought that maybe, I could find him,” and Yamashita never gives him the chance. “I nearly did. It was hard, at first. I mean, like. It’s hard finding someone who left. They don’t give you much to go on.”

 

Kame waits.

 

Yamashita starts the drive once more. “All that time I took off from work, I spent some of it looking. Some parts of it was a holiday, but I spent most of it looking.”

 

He pulls up at a train station.

 

Kame gets out with him this time. It’s night, there’s hardly anyone around. The last train’s probably gone but the two of them walk around the empty train station, their shoes shuffling against the ground. It’s odd, because usually, people are bustling around and making the place so packed and yet, Kame finds them the only two in a place with brightly coloured posters and grey walls.

 

For a second, he finds himself in between a stage and a station, a hall full of faces and a tunnel that has none. He doesn’t know which to choose, almost.

 

“I thought, when I was a kid, that if I got famous enough, he’d come find me. That he’d come back.”

 

Yamashita goes to sit on the concrete stairs, the ones leading up to a platform.

 

Kame remembers tripping up those stairs—he was rushing to catch the train to baseball practise after a dance rehearsal. He tripped, he fell and he cried like a baby because he landed on his arms and it really, really hurt. He was maybe twelve or thirteen then.

 

“But, you know, he didn’t come back,” Yamashita continues.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“No,” Yamashita says, shaking his head. “I think I felt like the world’s biggest idiot, because I thought he would come back. But, you know. He left, right?”

 

“You shouldn’t hate yourself,” Kame tells him, quiet. “It doesn’t help.”

 

Yamashita reaches a hand up and touches his nose. He runs a familiar course over the bridge of his nose, where some minor flaw was sandpapered out of him. He’s round and shiny and plastic, he’s perfect on the outside.

 

Kame sits down next to him, reaches out and pulls Yamashita’s hands away from his face.

 

“I said, you don’t have to hate yourself,” Kame repeats.

 

Yamashita looks at him. “I did the same. I walked away.”

 

Kame leans in, close enough that he can see the double creases of Yamashita’s eyelids, the angular cheekbones and every eyelash and the unbelievably minuscule scar.

 

“When you said you could love me, I thought that you were joking. That you were being that guy in the dramas, the ones who we always play. Because, life isn’t a drama. It’s impossible to be that guy in the drama, no matter how much we want to be,” Yamashita continues.

 

“What are you searching for then?”

 

“I thought if I found him, I could ask him why.”

 

Kame takes a moment to think. “Do you really want to know the answer, would you really ask if you found him?”

 

Yamashita presses his face into Kame’s shoulder. And he heaves a sigh.

 

The answer lingers in the air between them, with Kame stroking fingers through damaged hair once more.

 

 

*

 

 

“When you said you’d try, did you really mean it?”

 

It’s a question that comes out when they’re both crawling back into Kame’s bed, with just two pillows and a blanket.

 

Yamashita persists, “Hey, answer me.”

 

Kame closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s strange, Kame realises in the morning. He grabs a blanket and he covers Yamashita and the lump is so familiar. It’s quite strange because Kame doesn’t want to go to work, doesn’t want to fix anything. He drapes himself over the lump and smiles, just a bit. A small smile.

 

“Morning,” Yamashita mumbles.

 

“I could try. But I want you to be okay. I want you to be happy.”

 

“Okay,” his lump, Yamashita with his problems and his issues, groans, sleepy and groggy. He rolls and shuffles around. He ends up pushing Kame off lightly so they can get up and get ready for work.

 

They’re nearly out the door when Kame drops his folder, when Yamashita picks it up and looks at the print out, at a small wish that Kame’s been thinking about perhaps for awhile or perhaps since Yamashita admitted it.

 

“Kazuya?” And the name sounds, coming out of Yamashita’s mouth.

 

“Yeah?”

 

They’re back to sitting in the genkan, both of them putting their shoes on together.

 

“I want you to be happy too. I want you to be happy and shiny. Because you didn’t break me,” Yamashita tells him. “Kazuya, what I said, I’m sorry. Because you didn’t break me at all.”

 

I wanted to put you back together, Kame nearly tells him.

 

“Hey, Tomohisa?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Kazuya offer a hand. Tomohisa takes it. And they walk away from being broken, from being scared, from being alone.

 

They walk away together. 


End file.
